


Medianoche

by sylvain



Series: Comforts [3]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Bay Movies)
Genre: Cat, Comfort, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Mourning loss of a pet, Other, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22971730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvain/pseuds/sylvain
Summary: Donatello comforts you after the passing of your beloved cat, Medianoche.(Requested by a new friend who recently suffered a loss.)
Relationships: Donatello (TMNT)/Gender Neutral Reader, Donatello (TMNT)/Non-binary Reader, Donatello (TMNT)/Reader, Donatello (TMNT)/You
Series: Comforts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643353
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Medianoche

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Escritora2Aliasfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escritora2Aliasfox/gifts).



You bustle around the kitchen in a daze. Sadness hangs over you like a heavy fog, but there are things that need to be done before your company arrives. Food needs to be prepped. The table needs to be set. 

Doing these things is easy. You’ve done them so many times before that there's almost no thought to them. Which, unfortunately, allows your mind freedom to wander. And your thoughts are none too kind.

There’s a dark hole in your heart, an empty tug on your center. It’s what’s left after saying goodbye to your oldest companion. The living room feels empty without her here--your precious Medianoche. Her bed no longer sits at the foot of the couch. Though she much preferred to sleep while pressed up against your thigh or cuddled on the pillow of your bed, you had kept the round flannel cushion for her so she always had a place that was her own. The cat tree that had once filled the corner of the room is now tucked in the closet. You’re hopeful that by putting her things out of sight, your visitors will ask fewer questions about your dear pet that has passed. Perhaps, they won’t remember you had a cat at all. 

You frown as you move to the pantry; that may be the saddest thought of all. 

When Donatello comes up behind you and sneaks his hands around your waist, you're a little startled by his presence. You've gotten so wrapped up in doing things that you lost track of the time.

"Estará bien, mi amor." Donnie whispers into your hair as he places a kiss atop the crown of your head. 'It's going to be OK.'

With him holding you, you can almost believe him--until you see where you are and what you’ve done. You look down and Donnie realizes the second you’re going to break. His arms tighten around your middle, just a fraction. He places another kiss on your head. 

In one hand is your cat’s bowl. In your other, is her food. Your shoulders start to tremble as you place them on the counter. For over a decade, it’s been part of the natural order of things to set up her dinner while you prepared your own. But not anymore. 

Donatello turns you in his arms and wipes away your silent tears. More fall in their place. 

You suck in your bottom lip and hold it between your teeth to keep it from quivering, but Donatello releases it from your bite with the touch of his thumb. You don't have to hide from him. You don't have to pretend the pain isn't there. Although it’s been difficult for you to process your grief, with Donatello, it’s easier. 

Your face flushes; it always feels so hot when you cry. Donnie's lips feel cool against the heat of your forehead. You rise into his kiss to feel it just a little longer and your eyes close.

As he combs his fingers through your hair, his voice is low. "We don't need to do this now. My brothers can come another time."

You give a small shake of your head. The distraction will be nice. You've been looking forward to bringing Donatello's brothers to your place for weeks. With a full house, maybe you can put a pause on your cycling thoughts. Maybe their company will help to numb the pain of missing your sweet Medianoche, even if only for a few hours. 

And you’re right, in part. The distraction is nice. Donatello’s brothers compliment your home and hospitality. They make good conversation, as they always have during your visits to the lair. But even they can tell you aren’t your usual self. 

You spot Raph quietly tucking tiny toy mice in his pocket and nudging stray cat toys under the sofa so as not to draw attention to Medianoche’s absence. When it’s time to leave, Mikey’s hugs are extra soft. And Leo lingers in the doorway just a little longer than his brothers to wish you and Donnie a heartfelt ‘good night’. 

When they’re gone, you collapse onto the couch with Donatello. All too aware that your baby isn’t around anymore to weave her way between your ankles, you fold your legs under you and lean into your boyfriend’s side. His forearm is firm as you slide your hands down from his elbow to his wrist. His muscles twitch under your touch. You find his strength a source of grounding and calm. 

Your hand slips into his and starts a gentle massage, but your eyes drift to the clock. It’s nearly midnight. Your thumbs dig into Donnie’s palm, increasing their pressure as your grief takes hold again. 

Donatello raises your hands together with his to place a kiss on your knuckles, but he doesn’t stop you from working your fingers around his. With his free hand, he coaxes your head to lay on his arm. He pets your hair and reminisces about Medianoche in a hushed whisper. 

“She wasn’t scared of me,” he recalls as you nod in agreement. “She used my shell as a scratching post.”

You huff and sniff. It’s almost a laugh, but your heart is too heavy to follow through.

“I wish I had known her when she was younger.”

You give your eyes a quick wipe with your sleeve and clear your throat before suggesting, “She’d have tried to patrol with you. She was never one to be left behind.”

“I would have welcomed the company. As long as she stayed out of real trouble.”

“Donnie?” Your voice breaks, but you meet his eyes for the assurance they bring--assurance that everything will be OK. 

“What is it, amor?”

You duck your chin. What you’ll say probably sounds silly to a guy who has never had a pet before, but it’s the truth. “I see her everywhere.”

“OK,” he says, and he doesn’t sound freaked out or sarcastic. He’s as calm, curious, and supportive as always. It’s his unerring support, you think, that breaks the dam of your emotions time and time again. 

Your shoulders shake as you curl tighter around his arm. Your words are trapped against his skin as you bury your face. “I miss her so much.”

He pulls you into his lap and his large arms fold around you, pulling you into his hard chest. He rubs your back as you find comfort resting your head upon his shoulder. “She’ll always be with you,” he says as his palm smooths wide circles over your back. 

You nod into his neck, knowing in your heart that you will see her again, but your body is tense with the pain you’ve been carrying all week. It’s supposed to get easier with time, isn’t it? That’s what your friends have been telling you. But it doesn’t feel like letting go is any easier now than when you last held her in your arms and said goodbye.

Donnie’s hand rises up your spine to your neck and shoulders, finding the tension there without a word, and gives your muscles a light squeeze. You sigh into his touch, and it becomes more insistent. His hand explores the breadth of your shoulders in slow, sweeping motions as you lay upon his chest. 

It’s usually you who gives the massages. You've always found it easiest to show your affection through touch. And you truly enjoy working out the knots of Donatello's muscles after a long day of training. Now, to be on the receiving end of such a touch, you feel like you’re starting to melt. You nuzzle into the crook of Donnie’s neck and release a small yawn as the weariness of the week settles upon you. 

  
His fingers find their way into your hair again and offer soft scritches until you start to drift off to sleep. With your eyes closed you can imagine Medianoche is resting on the back of the couch, just to Donatello's side, purring in harmony with your lover's churr. 


End file.
